


Keeping All My Secrets Safe Tonight

by Nymora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: samhain_smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:12:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymora/pseuds/Nymora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When superheroes, secret agents, and spies prowl the streets of London, going incognito may not be the best idea. With Dutch courage, the right approach, and the proper footwear, though, Lily Luna might just find the only wizard in Muggle London lucky enough to spend Halloween with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping All My Secrets Safe Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This was my submission for the 2012 [](http://samhain-smut.livejournal.com/profile)[**samhain_smut**](http://samhain-smut.livejournal.com/) fest, which exemplifies awesomeness and has so many good stories I can't even handle it. While key parts of the club’s ambiance were inspired by [this deliciously grumpy snippet](http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/fake-fire-for-devon-bonfire-bash-429298), the rest is imagination. The hotel, however, was directly inspired by the Athenaeum, particularly [this view](http://www.athenaeumhotel.com/rooms/ultimate-roof-top-suite/private-balcony), which may be well worth the price in and of itself.

"Damn it all, how am I supposed to get this thing to stay on my sodding h— _Lily_?"

After applying one last sweep of mascara, Lily Luna Potter swivelled on her PVC-encased bum to find her favourite cousin standing in the doorway to her bedroom looking utterly ridiculous.

It wasn’t the spandex bodysuit, oddly enough. He actually filled that out reasonably well. Rather, Hugo had what appeared to be one of Aunt Hermione's sensible knee-high stockings stretched over his hair. Rough red curls stuck out from the bottom edges and bulged beneath the nylon, reminding Lily of a demented bank robber. She would have laughed if her own costume would have let her.

Instead, she arched an eyebrow. "Problem?" she drawled.

Hair emergency forgotten, Hugo circled her, cataloguing every scrap of her outfit. That was Lily's first inkling that it must be good. Full confirmation came with his grin, which was so wide it made the stocking roll up the sides of his head even further. "You _slag_."

Getting to her feet was more problematic than Lily expected. The heeled boots were nothing special: an old pair of her everydays from the back of the closet tidied up with some broom wax to make them especially shiny. The jumpsuit wasn’t even that bad; the cheap PVC was rough on the inside so it didn't stick to her skin. The corset underneath was the true culprit, holding her spine so rigid that she almost had to somersault just to get upright. "I don't know what you mean," she informed her cousin loftily. "I'm completely covered."

"Ha!" With a flick of his wand—Lily had no clue where he could hide it on his costume, and she didn't want to know—he sent the zip on the front of her jumpsuit sailing upward, so that her cleavage no longer spilled forth. Scowling, she snatched up her own wand from her dressing table and riposted with a spell that turned the stocking into a shower of Pepper Imps.

"Serves you right," she laughed as he frantically shook the candy from his head. "Calm down, berk, they don't ignite unless you put them in your mouth."

"I suppose you're a candy expert, then?" he retorted. "And how am I supposed to deal with this mop now?"

"Why were you using a stocking in the first place?"

"The packaging said I needed a nylon—"

"They probably meant one of these, darling." From the debris on her table Lily plucked up a nylon hair net, purchased when she'd had another costume in mind, one that needed a rather elaborate wig. Granted, she was still a bit miffed that Hugo had changed their plans, as being a princess—even one from outer space—had always sounded grand, but getting to keep her own hair was a nice bonus. Those massive piles of hair above her ears had been heavy. "Come over here and sit dow—no, damn it, never mind, stay standing.” She sighed. “I suppose you can move in yours."

"Oh, it's _very_ stretchy," and her ever-thoughtful cousin demonstrated, crossing the room with great lunging strides. Hugo was convinced that dressing up like superheroes was certain to get them more than their share of cock. Lily, far less experienced in matters of acquisition, wasn't so certain herself but if it made him happy, what was the harm?

Though she might recommend a tighter pair of pants. A bunch of drunk clubbers in London might not care, and the Weasley clan might disagree, but there were some things family just should not share with one another.

"You're lucky I don't have my gloves on yet," she sniffed, but her hands were gentle, and with quick, sure motions, she restrained her cousin's fluffy mop. The rest of the cousins thought she'd become fussy—when Dom joined the Harpies fresh out of Hogwarts and Lily spent a year in France with Aunt Fleur's family, even Mum joked that there must have been a mix-up somewhere along the line—but Hugo had always understood her.

"Lucky, that's it. Can't you use magic?"

"Defeats the purpose of going out like Muggles, doesn't it?"

"I won't tell if you won't."

"And if some lucky lad pulls off the mask to find your hair springing forth from nowhere?"

"I rather thought I'd leave the mask on." He raised his voice over her very audible dismay. "And how can he see me when I'm behi—"

"Hugo!"

"Really, Lil, didn't you learn anything in France?" He fluttered his eyelashes at her and she giggled, sliding the last stray curl beneath the cap. Rather than a true mask, this costume had an attached hood that covered half his face, complete with tiny wings on either side of the head. She tugged it up and over her cousin's face, ignoring his squawks as she fussed and tucked him into place.

"There. You look like a total berk now." Kissing his cheek, she rested her chin on his shoulder as they looked into the mirror.

He laid his cheek against the top of her head. "Did I say 'slag'? I meant 'slapper'. Now get me to a bar, I'm parched." She barely had time to snatch up her gloves and wand before he chivvied her toward the front door, pausing only to pick up his own wand and accessories.

"D'you really think dressing up like Captain America is going to get you laid in the middle of London?" But he had already Apparated away. With a sigh, Lily followed suit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The outing tonight was one Hugo and Lily had planned for a long time, ever since they'd learned about the growing trend in England of trick or treating and, more importantly, of dressing up for Halloween. None of their parents would take them when they were younger, of course; Hugo's Grandfather Granger, he'd later told her glumly, had instead blistered his ears with a lecture about sweets and tooth decay (with some grumbling about Americanization as a bonus) and given him a new toothbrush.

Naturally, they were a bit old now to wander door to door asking for sweets. Going clubbing, however, fit the bill nicely. London was noisy, smelly, and ridiculously dangerous. But as far as Lily could tell, the city ran on an unspoken policy of brisk efficiency, polite silence, and most importantly, _not looking at anyone_. For the daughter of the famous Harry Potter, it was bliss.

Rather than go through the Leaky, Hugo and Lily Apparated to the top of one of Piccadilly's buildings, quickly scanning the crowd for a safe place to reappear and join the swell of humanity. "Much less chancy than the Tube loos," Lily sighed happily when they met up again on the street.

Any worries she might have had about the relative outlandishness of their costumes were swiftly stifled by the club-hopping Londoners who swirled about them, festooned in glitter, gore and everything in between. Normal folk gave them odd looks, but like their Muggle counterparts, Lily and Hugo paid them no mind and ducked into the first club that looked entertaining.

Hugo picked up the first round of drinks as she found a spare bit of bar in the corner to lean against. When he sauntered over, drinks balanced on his shield, an admirer was already following in his wake.

"Greek, hmm? Subtle," Lily drawled as best as she could over the music, plucking her gin and tonic from the makeshift tray. Nerves had already encouraged her to nick a swig or two of Hugo's Firewhiskey before they'd left, but there was no need to tell him that. Anyway, she was going to get him another bottle for Christmas, so where was the harm?

"Who needs subtle when you've got scrummy?" Hugo retorted, handing his drink off to her. "Excuse me, I've business to attend to."

As always, Hugo had gone with the drink on special. Tonight it was some red concoction that was supposed to be "vampire blood" or some other tripe. They'd done a piss-poor job, if it was, because some arsehole had dumped edible glitter (ugh, she hoped it was edible) on top of it. Of course, that didn't stop her from drinking it when her cousin failed to reappear after ten minutes, and serve him right, too.

What had looked like a promising spot at first was obviously full of timid university students, gay men, and clusters of bitchy girls. While she'd avoided the skimpy costumes that passed for fancy dress in the shops—who the hell wanted to be a "sexy" cavewoman, let alone a "sexy" bumblebee?—these slags apparently had no compunction about showing every inch of their skin, and the idiots who surrounded them obviously preferred quantity over quality. Even the older blokes were flocking around the girls who had come in pairs or in groups. Scowling, she bolted back the rest of Hugo’s drink.

“Am I fucking _invisible_?” she snarked to nobody in particular before she wiped the glitter off of her mouth.

“Actually, yes. You are.”

She whirled around to look at the man who’d spoken and damn near fell on her arse. Luckily, a nearby barstool saved her from more than a bit of breathlessness as her clothing compressed her lungs. “ _What_?”

He was definitely older than her, which might have been a problem if he wasn’t so _fit_. His hair, a warm golden brown, curled tightly against his head and showed no signs of receding. Green-hazel eyes sparkled at her; a confident smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wore no mask and his outfit, a sharp tuxedo that fit too well to come off a rack, had no other strange accessories, no hint as to who exactly he might be in the realm of well-dressed Muggle characters. For a moment she wondered if he might be coming from a wedding, maybe even his own. A quick glance at his left hand showed that if he had ever worn a ring, it hadn’t been for long.

“You must be invisible,” he continued, his smirk widening. “How else could a lovely girl like you be all by yourself?”

The line was delivered with so much arrogance she almost told him to fuck off then and there. But there was something about him that was familiar. She’d seen him before, and not just as another posh bloke walking round London. Prodding her alcohol-hindered memory into action took time, so Lily stalled. “You seem to be invisible too. Reckon we’re under a Halloween curse.” Flicking a glance at one of the bartenders, who was dressed in what must be the most stereotypical witch outfit in all of Britain, she added in a mock whisper, “I suspect that one over there did it.”

Her mystery admirer looked down at his empty martini glass with a sigh. “Pity. Was hoping to get a refill too. Can’t have everything, I suppose.”

He glanced above them, and with a careful turn she followed his line of sight to the upper level of the club. When she’d first arrived it had been dark up there, with fewer people and only occasional flashes of colour. There had apparently been some changes since then, though. For one thing, someone had started up a smoke machine, creating a blanket of pale grey mist that swirled upon the floor and drifted downward to obscure the flashing lights below. For another, there were quite a few more people moving about up there, even though it remained poorly lit.

While she was distracted, he stepped closer, just close enough to make her wary but not nervous enough to jam the heel of her boot into his toes. “Want to try our luck up there?” he whispered into her ear, and Lily couldn’t help it; she shivered. He might have been arrogant, but the man knew what he was doing. Merlin, she hoped he wasn’t one of her parents’ friends. He was definitely too polished to be one of her dad’s Aurors.

She let him lead her up the spiral staircase that connected the two levels. The room above was smaller, meant for lounging and conversation. The wall farthest from the door had a pleasant surprise: a projector had been set up so that a giant image of a bonfire beneath the night sky shone upon it, providing a warm glow of light not immediately visible from below. They had even put in the sounds of crackling wood, though it was hard to hear with the music blaring below. This level also had its own bar, manned by two blokes: one dressed in dark robes, the other with festooned with ivy leaves on his head and loincloth. _Splendid, the other Muggle stereotype of magic. At least this one is somewhat accurate._

They went to the bar first and ordered drinks. Though fairly confident in her skills as a witch, Lily wasn’t an utter idiot. She ordered the exact same thing he did, a vodka martini, and watched the drink closely as it went from bartender to his hand to hers. If she wasn’t sure of his good intentions, all she had to do was switch them when he wasn’t looking and the tosser would get whatever nasty surprise he had in mind for her.

“Our luck is turning,” she noted as they crossed the room, heading for a freshly vacated sofa. Setting her drink upon a handy end table, Lily carefully lowered herself down to a seated position, adjusting her corset as subtly as she could once her lungs could operate as intended. Judging by the low-lidded gaze her companion bestowed upon her bosom, the process was messier than she’d hoped.

“Must be the gods’ favour,” he agreed cheekily, tipping his head toward the leafy bartender. Of course, he must be Bacchus. Dionysus. Whatever they called him these days. Lily sipped her drink and was swiftly glad she had started the evening with Firewhiskey, because there was enough vodka in there to make a hippogriff wheeze.

Damn it, she needed to focus. “Not big on luck?”

“I find I make most of my goals when I make my own luck.” _Definitely_ an arrogant b—

Goals.

Quidditch.

The Ministry.

This was the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the wizard who had almost inspired Uncle Ron to surrender his lifetime Chudley Cannons tickets.

Cormac McLaggen had just stared at her tits.

Despite her mother’s hopes, Lily’s rabid love for Quidditch had ended around her fifth year, when she realized that being a miniature of her mum wasn’t something she _had_ to do in order for people to like her. She kept up with the talk here and there thanks to Mum’s job, though, so she knew McLaggen had been a Keeper for the Cannons (hence Uncle Ron throwing such a wobbler) and at least one other team. Somehow he’d gotten on the business side of things until he made Department Head. _That_ she knew because he’d been a thorn in Dad’s side during the last World Cup, insisting on more Auror protection for England’s team at a time when Dad was already stretched thin. McLaggen had worn him down, though, which meant he was either very impressive or supremely irritating.

“Goals? Are you an athlete, then?” Merlin, she hoped he didn’t hear how weak she sounded.

“I’m an event organizer, but my playing days are over. Not many squads are looking for goalkeepers with bum knees,” he informed her with a wink. She expected him to go on about himself but was pleasantly surprised when he instead asked, “And what of you? Other than saving the world, of course.”

“Well, it’s a busy job,” she drawled. “I’m at loose ends, really. I spent some time in France working for my aunt’s sister. It was lovely, but I missed home.” There had also been some semi-spectacular heartbreak involved, but McLaggen didn’t need to know _that_.

“Where in France?”

“Paris. My aunt’s sister works in fashion. Nobody big,” she added hastily, “but she’s trying to build her name.”

Actually, Gabrielle had taken over the reins of the family business and was well established in Paris’s wizarding world. Mum and Dad might not be caught dead in a shop more fashionable than Madam Malkin’s, but she would bet her last Galleon that McLaggen owned at least one set of Parisian bespoke robes. For some reason, though, Lily didn’t want him to connect her to her family and realize just who he was chatting up. It must be sheer perversity on her part, she decided as she took another generous swallow of her drink. Maybe when she’d had her fun she’d bring Hugo up and let him in on the joke.

“There’s your problem, then. I’ve never been fond of Paris. Now, the south of France, especially if you can avoid the tourists...”

Though she knew it wasn’t real, the warm lights of the virtual bonfire flickering all around her made Lily feel as though they were in another place entirely, some dark and mysterious corner of the woods where only they dared to tread. Yet she could still see him clearly, the broad sweep of his shoulders as he balanced his elbows against his knees, the strength in his large hands, cradling his glass carefully so that he didn’t splash her boots. They talked mostly of travel, the places they’d been and wanted to go. At one point he went to get them more drinks, but rather than follow him, she situated herself against the back of the sofa, surreptitiously fixing her hair and fiddling with the zip on her outfit. McLaggen might be an arrogant bastard, but he wasn’t a kidnapper.

When he returned after their second refill, he handed her both drinks. It looked like more vodka martinis but they were in pint glasses this time; the bar must have run out of normal ones. She watched, bemused, as he tugged his bow tie loose, draping the fabric around his neck so that he could unbutton his collar. “Figure it’s about time to drop the act,” he said, taking back one of the glasses as he sat back down. Before her brain could catch up and throw her into a panic, he added, “Nobody seems to get the reference anyway.”

“What did you get us, then?”

“Water.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We’ve both had enough to have a cracking good Halloween, or Samhain, or whatever you want to call it.” Somehow he’d gotten closer to her. How had he managed that? “Hell, it’ll still be good if we each end the night too pissed to walk. But I’ll be honest, love, I’m thinking we can do better than _good_.”

In one smooth, practised movement, he leaned over and pressed his mouth to hers. It was utterly different than any kiss she’d ever had before. Lily hadn’t managed to date much at Hogwarts, and the boys she had been with had barely gotten past heavy petting, if that. It was as if they expected that the instant they touched her, the famous Harry Potter, vanquisher of Dark Lords and criminal scum, would appear to slay any and all who dared soil his little girl. Even Jean-Louis, the French boy who had been her first and thus far her only, had been almost fearfully polite, asking permission to kiss her in muddled English. He had been all flowers and romance up until she'd let him shag her. Only after did he decide she was too stubborn and difficult for his taste.

The thought of McLaggen asking her permission for anything, let alone asking her _father_ , was so ridiculous that it snapped her out of her shock. Grinning against his mouth, she placed her glass on the side table, then wrapped her hands around the loose ends of his tie to pull him closer. She slid her tongue between his lips and flicked it playfully against his own.

“ _Definitely_ better than good,” he gasped when she finally let him up. The attractive flush that had been building all night was in full bloom across his cheeks now, adding a delicious touch of wildness to his wealthy businessman facade. His fingers traced the edge of her zipper, ghosting along her cleavage. A slight tug, and the zip went down further, exposing the black lace of the corset beneath. Without the infernal contraption she wouldn’t have been able to get the PVC suit on. Judging by the way his eyes darkened at the sight, though, there were indeed other benefits to be considered.

“Help me up,” she commanded him, and with his aid she managed to get to her feet without ripping anything. Though by now a healthy portion of the crowd had cleared out—just how long _had_ they talked?—the heat of the room had taken its toll. Surely that was why her skin felt so hot, itchy even, ready to be free of her costume and everything else. Pressing against him seemed to help, though, which made no sense at all. “Is there somewhere we can go?”

“I’ve a flat nearby. If you’d rather, I’ll get us a hotel room.” For that extra bit of concern she turned the press into a rub as she toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “The whole sodding hotel, whatever you want,” he groaned in her ear. His bold hands grasped her arse, bringing her even closer.

Even through all of the layers they wore, she could feel the solid weight of his cock against her, and was suitably impressed. _He could have done well at Beater_ , she thought giddily as they kissed again. For a bit of quid pro quo and then some, she traced her hands across his shoulders, over his biceps (as lovely and firm as she’d thought), trailed her fingers down his sides and then squeezed his arse all while sucking lightly on his tongue. He made a rather high-pitched sound, but that was all right; Lily knew she was making some undignified noises herself.

“The whole place is a bit much, but a hotel would be lovely, if you don’t mind,” she informed him as politely as she could, considering the circumstances. “Can we go? People are staring.”

“Let them. They’re just jealous.” There was that arrogant smirk again as he stepped back. “They have to go be ordinary while we go and save the world.”

“Saving the world, hmm? That’s what we’re doing?”

“It is,” McLaggen confirmed as he steered them toward and down the staircase. “Wait down here by the bar, love. I did actually come here with friends so I’d better let them know I’m leaving.”

With a saucy grin, she plucked the now-crumpled tie from around his neck and draped it around her own. “Making sure you come back,” she informed him.

“That,” he said, eyeing her from head to toe, “won’t be a problem.”

While he did a sweep of the room she did her own scan for Hugo. There were no tall superheroes in sight, though she did catch a glimpse of the Greek lad, his toga askew. From her belt pouch she produced a Muggle credit card, or at least something that looked very much like one. The top left corner was a different colour than the rest of it: purple, meaning Hugo was back at the flat with “company.” A tap of her finger on the top right corner turned it red: she was away for the night, with company. It was a colour she’d never used before, though Hugo certainly had.

By the time Cormac returned, the card was tucked away again, and she was demurely sipping a fresh glass of water at the bar. “Find anyone?” she inquired. He pressed against her from behind, and brushed his lips against the shell of her ear.

“Mission accomplished. Back to base?”

She pretended to think about it. “Could be a perilous trip.”

“Oh, it will be,” he growled. As he led her out into the London night, the cold air rushed against her, chilling her skin beneath the costume. October here wasn’t nearly as bad as Scotland but the wind still had a bite to it, and she huddled against his arm for some scrap of warmth. They stopped on a street corner and he removed his tuxedo jacket so he could drape it over her shoulders. “Better?” he asked softly as he pulled it close around her and straightened the lapels.

Before things got too soppy, Lily rewarded him with a kiss, nipping at that slightly sulky lower lip of his every time it seemed he might try to turn it from scorching hot to soft and sweet. By the time he flagged down the cab, he seemed to have figured things out, and Lily blessed the blasé nature of late-night London cab drivers as they sucked, licked, bit, and stroked one another to a fever pitch. Dazed, with love bites stinging against her neck, she barely registered what went on as Cormac paid for a room, noticing the elegant parquet floor of the lobby only when her boot heels clicked against it on the way to the elevator. She did, however, notice when he pushed the button for the top floor. Lily hadn’t stayed in Muggle hotels often but she knew about things like penthouse suites.

“You didn’t have to get the top floor for my benefit,” she pointed out, wondering if she should be leery. Wasn’t that a bit grandiose for a girl he'd just picked up at a club?

“I always stay in the penthouse, love. Usually this one. Easier to stick with habit when all the blood’s rushed from my head.” How, she wondered, could he say something so crude without making it sound disgusting at all? _Maybe he’ll say more things, later, when we’re..._ A thrill of pleasure bolted through her veins at the thought.

The lift ride was comparatively chaste as they simply held hands on the ride up. That changed the instant they entered the suite and the door closed behind them. Lily wasn’t sure who leapt upon whom first, but the first casualty was the tuxedo jacket, trampled underfoot before she kicked it away with a muttered curse. Next was a tie between his dress shirt, yanked from his waistband, and the top of her suit, gripped in strong hands and pulled apart so fast the zipper didn’t have the chance to snag on the lace of her corset. Hearing the cheap material of her outfit tear, she returned the favour, eschewing the slow and deliberate removal of buttons from holes in favour of simply ripping at his shirt. It took two or three good pulls but at last it was open and she could look her fill. Jean-Louis had been lean and (very deliberately) hairless; Cormac was solidly built, with a pelt of brown curls that spread across his chest and tapered down to a point just above his belly button before resuming again past it.

“Your turn,” he murmured against her mouth as his fingers delicately traced the lacing of her corset, “but I might need some help.” He wanted to use magic, she could tell; it was in the twitch of his fingers, the way they curled against his palm as together they pulled the jumpsuit down her arms and then loosened her lacy prison. But he still thought she was a Muggle, and the knowledge that in some way she had the upper hand helped keep her steady as he lifted the corset up over her head, tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist. She stood before him completely topless now, the jumpsuit hanging about her waist. Only the short, fingerless gloves she’d not had the patience to remove remained on her upper body.

With one large hand, he reached out and cupped her breast. Eyes fluttering shut, she let her mouth drop open on a sigh, luxuriating in the feel of a man who knew his way around a woman’s body, knew how to build up the sensations that would push her over the edge. For all his sentimentality, Jean-Louis had been too eager, moving right in to tug on her nipples before he’d even touched her anywhere else below the neck. Then he’d wondered why she wasn’t enthused about their lovemaking, why she hadn’t been as eager to go to bed as he, and why he’d never been able to make her come. She'd faked it for him once, and once only, more to shut him up than anything else. The next day he'd dumped her. _He was wrong_ , she thought with a dizzy sort of triumph as she swayed closer to Cormac, bringing his other hand up to lavish more attention on her breasts when he seemed inclined to linger. _The problem wasn’t with me, it was him._ He _was the one who couldn’t do it right_. And that, she decided, was the last time she’d think of her former lover tonight.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Cormac clasped her against him, using his superior strength to carry her over to the curved mauve sofa that dominated the sitting area.

“Come here, love,” he murmured, sitting down and guiding her so that she straddled him. Hot breath ghosted against her ear as his hands slid over her skin. “Wish I could get you in just these boots, nothing else. Have you walk around the room showing off those long legs, that pretty arse for me. I’d leave them on while I fucked you from behind. Would you like that?”

Her answer trailed into an inarticulate cry as his skillful mouth latched onto her breast, his lips and tongue sending sweet fire arcing through her. Merlin, she must be drenched by now, because sex had never felt like this. All the tension, all the worries about whether he would do it right or not were nowhere to be found in the warm, dizzy haze she found herself floating in. Purely to speed along the process—certainly not because she wanted to see if she could make him make some noises of his own—she flicked open the waist of his trousers and plunged her hand inside. He sucked in a deep breath and pulled back; she did some pulling of her own until his cock reared up, free of confinement and looking very well indeed.

They both watched as her gloved hand moved once, twice, thrice down the shaft, coming up to swirl over the head at every turn.

“You do realize,” she told him, “that just because you got the penthouse suite, it doesn’t mean I’m going to give you a blow job.” She grinned at him to let him know she didn’t really think he expected that. And showed extra teeth just in case the thought _had_ crossed his mind.

“Probably for the best,” he gasped. “If I have to pick just one—and I think I might—your mouth isn’t where I’d like to end up tonight, gorgeous though it is.” To prove the point, he kissed her.

“However,” she continued shakily once he had given sufficient evidence, “I do have some ideas of how to use this lovely space.” Though she couldn’t quite get him to remove his hand from the small of her back, she did manage to grab his wrist and manoeuvre it around to her front. The bottom seam of her costume ripped as she slid his hand inside her zip and down her belly. His perplexed scowl shifted to a slow grin and he took over, inching further and further down until his fingers brushed her curls. His breath caught. She met his raised eyebrow with one of her own.

“Forgot something?” His thumb slid down to brush against her clit.

“Are you complaining?” she asked tartly, putting her hands on her hips. Though it kept them still when he moved against her again, she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. He knew it, too, the smug bastard.

“Bossy baggage, aren’t you.” Then his fingers were _everywhere_ —stroking her on the outside, flicking against her clit, and brushing further down into her folds. Her outrage dissolved. Impatient, she wriggled closer, ripping the material even further. Anything to give him better access, to keep those fingers working her wet flesh.

Out of consideration she tried to return the favour, running her hands up and down his cock and occasionally caressing his balls, but when he got his other hand involved and began to slide a thick finger up inside of her she had to give it up as a lost cause. Hearing her seams rip, the costume falling apart as he tore at her clothes to get at her, only added to the excitement. A second finger stretched her deliciously full while his left thumb—or was it his right?—strummed across her clit; she fell forward, gasping against his neck, as he began to flex inside of her, rubbing the pads of his fingers against a spot that made her hips jolt. Merlin, but it felt good—no, better than—it was— _she_ was—

The orgasm crashed against her, a black tide of sensation that spiralled out from her core and made all of her extremities tingle. She cried out against the warm, corded strength of Cormac’s neck as her hips gyrated of their own accord. It felt as though someone had unhinged her from her own body and left her in it to be taken along for the ride, tossing her about as she quivered and shook in his arms. Only the places he touched her kept her grounded. Fastening her lips upon his neck she sucked hard, desperate for more of that touch. _It's never been—I've never been able to—so that's what it's like when someone else—_

“—so fucking gorgeous,” she heard him say, and it occurred to her that he had likely been murmuring to her for a while and she’d been too caught up in her own babbling thoughts to notice. “Want you so much.” His fingers were still heavy inside of her, slowly rocking back and forth to keep her wet and open for him. Incredibly, she could feel the beginning tremors of excitement again at the thought of him having his turn. “There’ll be protection in the bedroom—you don’t need to worry—but if you don’t want—”

“I’d like to think,” she informed him with a smile, “that I would have done all that _before_ I let you put your fingers there.” Still, she rolled off to the side, but only to start the removal of her boots. “If you’d like to take care of that, I could use a minute or two here.” She gestured down at the torn remnants of her costume.

He blinked, and she was sure her smile was a bit smug now. _Not used to someone who pushes back, are we, oh great seducer_? Not that she could complain. If that was how he exerted his authority it might be worth her while to let him be in charge, at least a little bit.

While he padded off to the suite’s master bedroom, Lily got rid of the rest of her clothes. The boots, however, she put back on. It wasn’t just about giving Cormac what he wanted; as a practical girl, Lily knew that what she had in mind might necessitate a bit of extra height, and if it didn’t, well, it was easier to take them off quickly than to put them on.

She had just enough time to stage the scene before he returned. Lily, she was told, had a good eye for design as well as a ripe imagination. Thus, she knew just what sort of picture she painted, standing inside the now-open glass doorway that led out onto the balcony. The cold breeze nipped at her bare back and swirled over her front, hardening her nipples to pale pink points. Only her legs and feet, clad in black leather, were reasonably warm.

Wearing only in a black satin robe, Cormac entered the room. As soon as he saw her, he froze. Biting back a smile at how hard he tried not to look completely poleaxed, Lily instead leaned with her back against the door jamb, eyeing him through heavy lids, utterly shameless as she raised her arms above her head. “I don’t suppose you could keep me warm?” she inquired.

It wasn’t the most original line, but Lily got the feeling she could have said just about anything and the end result would have been the same. He walked toward her slowly, his eyes insolent, a silent challenge to any sense of modesty or shame. Defiantly, she lifted her chin, pursing her lips but letting the corners of her mouth tilt up. Just when he was in arm’s reach, she pushed away from the wall, strolling outside as if she were on a walk. They were up high enough that she could see over the treetops, London lit up like a beacon beyond them.

Still nonchalant, she leaned forward so that her elbows were braced against the railing. The metal was even colder than the air, but when she closed her eyes and shivered, it had everything to do with the wizard behind her. Why it was so important she win this battle of wits she didn’t quite know, especially when she was so ready to be fucked that every puff of autumn wind felt like a deliberate tease. Seconds ticked by without the sound of his footsteps coming closer. Had he changed his mind? Was she being too— Warm hands settled on her hips and she felt cool satin glide against her skin. Lily nearly cried with relief.

“Like this, then?” he breathed, and was he— oh Merlin, he was rubbing the head of his cock all over her cunt in smooth strokes with just the right amount of pressure. She exhaled, long and slow, because the only other option was to buck forward every time he brushed against her clit and that simply would not do.

“Yes,” she groaned, turning her neck as far as she could to see him. The robe was open but still covered his arms, and his attention was rapt upon where their bodies met, brow furrowed as he moved against her again. By chance he glanced up and their gazes locked, hazel to hazel.

Whatever he saw there made him shift from subservient lover to cocky bastard once more, his hands moving up to clasp her hips. Lily braced herself, waiting for him to take her hard, to use her for his own pleasure. To her delight, he gifted her with a lazy smile that made her breath catch, and loosened his grip. With firm, deliberate strokes he began to rearrange her body, lifting her arse, spreading her legs further, and occasionally brushing a finger against her nipples or clit just to watch her squirm. “How badly do you want this?” he asked, and the combination of dominance and solicitude was so _good_ that she couldn’t speak.

Instead she closed her eyes, keening, as he pressed two fingers inside of her again. Though still snug from her earlier orgasm, the thought of doing this—of _him_ —had kept her wet and ready. “So badly,” she confessed, and it sounded so much like a sob that she almost wanted to check her face for tears. “I need you so much—”

As he began his relentless push into her body, Lily turned back toward the darkened panorama of London. It must be a lovely view, she knew, but right now it was only part and parcel of this glorious moment: the cool breeze of autumn fading into winter’s bite; the rustle of wind in the branches of trees; but most of all, the hot, hard thrust of his cock inside of her, so good it made her writhe and strain against the railing. Her breath came in shallow gasps as he sank to the base, pressing his thighs against hers.

The boots, it turned out, were the perfect height.

“Hold on, love,” he told her, and she was fairly certain that it was only that command that kept her hands braced on the balcony and her body from floating away.

Time faded to a slow halt as he moved against her, and maybe it was the alcohol but Lily had never felt so free in her own skin before. Greedily she chased after every delicious sensation, moving against him when it suited her, encouraging him with moans and thrusts of her hips when his fingers crept around to strum at her clit. Her hands stayed firmly on the railing; if he wanted her to come again he would have to draw it out of her, would have to make her body sing all on his own. Her eyes slammed shut but the skyline still shone behind them, the lights blinking and brightening and coming closer and closer—

A press of his fingers, one more sharp thrust of his cock and she was gone again, crying out her release to London and anyone else who might be listening as she clenched and rippled around him. Now he lost all restraint, pulling one of her legs up and over his hip as she did her level best to stay upright and give him what he needed. It was only when he came with a wordless bellow, grinding against her slick and unresisting flesh, that she realized she’d never given him her name.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Lily Luna Potter.”

Oh Merlin, it was _much_ too early for her to have done something that merited the full name, especially when her head was pounding and her mouth was both dry and vile. With a noise somewhere between a whine and a grumble, she rose up a bit only to collapse once more against the white and taupe linens.

Which was perfectly normal, except that her sheets were blue.

Gasping as memory flooded back in with a vengeance, Lily sat bolt upright to meet her assailant head-on. There was McLaggen, smiling pleasantly as he sat at the foot of the bed, freshly showered and clad this time in what looked to be one of the fluffiest, most comfortable bathrobes she’d ever seen. Legs folded, hands braced against one knee, he looked the very picture of geniality, not to mention sobriety. Lily eyed him warily as she gathered the sheets to her chest.

“And what,” she asked, slow and soft, more because her head hurt than because she wanted to make any sort of threat, “makes you think that that’s my name?”

With the pinkie of his right hand he held up her belt. All of the pouches were open.

“You _went through my things_?”

“Upon further thought, it occurred to me that I should make sure you were, in fact, over eighteen,” he informed her. “Unfortunately for you, I found the wand first. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered to Disillusion the driving licence. A very good alteration of the name.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. McLaggen,” she replied courteously, as though he wasn’t trying to shame her into acting like a naughty child, and especially as though it wasn’t working. “I’ve always been good at Charms. I don’t suppose you have any more Hangover Potion?”

He laughed, and even though it was a lovely sound she winced. “Bold as brass,” he said, and luckily for her he seemed to admire that. Well, he was a Gryffindor too, after all. “I do. I might even let you have it, if you answer a question.”

With a sigh, Lily prepared herself for disappointment.

“Why didn’t you just say you were a witch? Would have made it damned easier.”

She blinked at him. He cocked an eyebrow. “Confused?”

“I’m used to being asked if I plan on telling my dad,” she informed him. “Or if he’s going to find out. Does that answer your question?”

“I think so,” he said after a moment of thought. “Still, I’m a bit miffed. I had to spend all of that time with shirtsleeves and robes on, all so I wouldn’t have to explain these.”

He dropped the front of the robe down so that it rested against his elbows. Entranced by the sight of his well-muscled arms, it took Lily a moment to see the problem. Or rather, _problems_. On one bicep, three Keeper’s goals stood, flags billowing in the breeze, as a Quaffle darted before them. On the other arm, a bright orange cannon shot out a Quaffle at random intervals. The cannon, she realized, only fired when the Quaffle made it through one of the hoops. Then it reappeared before the goals to begin the process all over again.

“ _Wicked_ ,” she breathed before remembering where she was and who she was dealing with. As he pulled the robe back on she cast her eyes downward, though a smile tugged at her lips. “I’m sorry to have been such a bother.”

“I’d say _you_ were the wicked one,” he drawled as he handed her the blessed blue bottle of Hangover Potion. Immediately after drinking it, she began to feel much improved, a change he apparently noticed because he handed her her wand. “Superhero indeed.”

“Not super enough for you?” She Summoned her clothes from the other room. The morning after, or so she'd heard, was the most awkward part of a one-off, and she’d be damned if she let him know just how much she wanted to stay. Especially if he kept sitting there expectantly, as if _waiting_ for her to finally crawl out of bed so he could get on with his—

“Well.” He leaned closer to her, gave her one of those arrogant winks. “Now that I know you’re a witch, there are some truly amazing things we might do. Good at Charms, you say?”

Flummoxed, Lily blinked at him. Still there. She did it again. A grin threatened to split her face wide open. “I’m better than good.” At some point she would have to contact Hugo, but for now... “You might even get to find out, if you’re lucky.”

Fortunately for Lily Luna, Cormac McLaggen did, in fact, make his own luck.


End file.
